Fade
by Miruvix
Summary: Recovery from the Game, and learning to kill, to fight, to trust. BRII. PG-13. Platonic Kazama x Saki.
1. Un

Title: Fade 1/3

**Title: **Fade 1/3

**Author:** Miru

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warning: **No spoilers, largely speculative

Tokyo summers are typically hot and muggy, especially further down south, and today is no exception. Cicadas wail their monotone songs, and Saki can feel beads of sweat roll down the back of her neck as he waits for the train to roll to a halt. "This is the last stop," the electronic voice drones. Around her, the hustle and bustle of people makes her nervous -- not enough time has passed yet since the Game for her night fears and constant terrors to completely fade away -- but it doesn't matter. "This is the last stop, all passengers, please unboard the car," comes the voice again, as the train door opens with a woosh of pressurized air escaping.

Immediately, the throngs of people rush out of the train and onto the platform, heading for the exit, or looking for people who'll meet them. A few people hang back, waiting for the flow of the crowd to die down a bit. Saki is one of the waiting crowd. Watching a little old lady toddle across the car and onto the crowded platform, she sighs, going over the orders in her head.

Take the train south, Shinjo had told her. Get on the red line, ride to the very last stop. Get off, and he'll be waiting at the station. Look for a tall man with a guitar case and a red bandanna.

A guitar case?

Yes, to carry his weapon. A sniper. He'll be your mentor.

Why do I need a mentor?

If you want to fight, you'll need training. Don't worry, he's a trustworthy man. Only a few years older than you.

The rattle of some businessman dragging a luggage trunk off the car and onto the platform jolts her out of her thoughts -- car's almost empty now. Good. A moment of hesitation, then she hefts the backpack on her shoulder and steps out onto the platform -- it's mostly empty, too. Only a few people milling around, some happy reunited couples hugging, one old woman embracing her young child. Then, in the far corner -- him.

He seems to notice her at the same moment, and gets up from the wooden platform bench he was sitting on, picking up a large guitar case -- black lacquer, it gleams dully in the summer sun. Red bandanna around his neck, a narrow strip of color bright against clothes in muted tones and military greens. And tall. Certainly tall.

She comes up to his chin, maybe, and when she's standing before him, he looks at her carefully -- he looks wary, tired, eyes narrowed behind bangs -- "Sakurai?" A quiet question that Saki answers with a nod.

"Follow me."

Without waiting for an answer, he turns around and heads straight for the stairwell leading out the platform, walking at a determined clip -- and Saki follows behind him, turning around to take in the quiet dregs of the train station for a moment, before starting down the stairs.

It's a bit like stepping away from a home she no longer has.

--

The roads are quiet, as is the car -- a dusty, muggy, summer quiet that stifles sound -- Saki sits up ramrod straight in the passenger seat, eyes trained outside the window and taking in the scenery. Roads have started to deteriorate from asphalt to unpaved dirt, lined with long grass and smatterings of trees. They're heading towards the outskirts of the city, with fewer people, fewer buildings, fewer dangers of being discovered.

A rock in the road sends the car bouncing up, and Saki winces -- Kazama doesn't.

Kazama. That's his name. She only knows because she'd been told beforehand -- he hasn't said a word since leaving the platform, starting the car, loading their meager luggage and waiting for her to sit down in utter silence.

One of those silent types, Saki notes. She doesn't like him. (Those were the types that were most dangerous back in the game. Cold, heartless, and bloody. One of them almost killed her. She instinctively dislikes this silent stranger.)

She's tired, exhausted, and would love to sleep -- but doesn't.

Not when trapped with someone she doesn't trust.

The car buckles a few more times, turning onto a dusty side road -- Saki grits her teeth to keep from biting her tongue -- and the car lets out a tired sort of wheeze when it pulls into a back alley between two lines of short, squatting buildings. Why are they stopping here?

Before she can ask, Kazama's already cut off the engine and opened the door, stepping out onto the asphalt road -- looking at her. Wants her to get off, too, apparently, so Saki opens the door grudgingly and follows behind him as he weaves around the corner and enters the back door of a building. Holding the door open for her.

She deliberately waits an arms-length away, until he turns around, letting the door close, and enters the building -- only then, she follows behind him. The door lets out a tiny metal jingle when she opens it and walks in, and she's flanked on either side by shelves of boxes, labeled with crude marker handwriting -- "pots and pans," "model T35," "calculators," "alloy screws."

-- a hardware store?

"Welcome!"

She whirls around instantly when a voice speaks up cheerfully -- not Kazama's. Some other man. Someone older, standing at the front counter, surrounded by more boxes -- and he's smiling, giving her a small wave. "Hello! You're the new trainee that Shinjo sent over, aren't you? Sakurai Saki-san. I already heard."

"Yes."

"You don't need to be so wary of me. Don't worry, I'm Shinjo's friend. Imakire. Heard of me, by any chance?"

"...no."

"Ah well, that's okay. I'm the weapons provider for a lot of the groups around here. Dawn of Sajia? You'll hear more of me eventually."

"I see."

So that's what all these boxes are.

There's the dull clump of boots from around a row of shelves, and Kazama emerges from out of the jungle of boxes, hefting a rifle and several smaller boxes in varying sizes.

"Oh, M24? Good choice. I think that's the lightest model we have. Got the right ammo?"

A quiet nod, and Kazama turns to hand Saki the rifle. She holds it awkwardly -- it's an odd feeling, to be carrying a gun again so soon. A jangle of metal as the various boxes are placed on the counter -- probably ammunition, and Imakire laughs, waiting as Kazama fishes a handful of bills out of his pocket. "Hey, Sakurai-san."

"Yes?"

"Don't worry." Don't worry? About what? "Kazama-kun might look scary but he's a nice guy. He'll protect you."

From what?

"-- ah. Okay. Thanks."

Answering with a nervous sort of nod, she turns away -- then realizes that Kazama has already brushed past her and made for the door, slipping the boxes of bullets in his pocket.

"Good luck!" comes the cheerful call, and Saki answers with another nod before following Kazama.

Imakire -- a weapons provider. Too friendly. She can't help but be wary of him too -- then catches herself. No. She can't let the aftereffects of the Game get to her like this. She'd won. Fight the system. Don't let it turn you against everyone.

It seems to have grown even hotter when she steps out onto the street and heads back for the car, sliding into the passenger seat and clicking the seatbelt in place. The car rumbles to a start, and she once against stares out the window. Just three days. Just three days, her game lasted -- two months and she still can't shake it off.

Rebellion really isn't as easy as they all say.

--

If the dusty heat of the road is stifling, then the heat of the forest is suffocating on a completely different level. The rustling of the leaves, the shifting patterns of light through the tops of the trees, the gusts of hot wind. Saki can feel the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, the trigger heavy against her finger. And the wailing of the cicadas is loud -- almost loud enough to drown out the quiet orders that Kazama gives from beside her.

"Don't lean too heavily into the shot." A slow breath out, and Saki loosens her hold on the pistol grip. "Focus only on the target, don't let anything distract you." The flickering mesh of sunlight is more distracting than she thought. "Breath out just before you shoot. Don't blink. Go."

The recoil of the gun isn't as bad as what she had back during the game, but it still jars her arm and send a heavy pain down her arm. The top edge of the target explodes into fragments of paper, and the gunshot's still ringing in her ears.

"Too high. Stiffen your muscles to keep your arms from flinching before the shot." Reaching over, he rearranges her hands on the gun, lanky fingers rough and calloused against hers, leather half-gloves brushing against the barrel. "Use your forearms to absorb the recoil."

Leaning back, he points to another target, higher up in the tree -- circular, made of a nondescript pale gray paper -- moving ever so slightly in the summer breeze. Shaped vaguely like a human -- just enough to be jarring.

"Do these targets have to look like people?"

And she can't help but ask.

For a long moment, she gets no answer, just a heavy silence. Then,

"Shoot."

(Because maybe that's all there is to war.)

This time, she's closer to center, and she can see Kazama give a slight nod.

"Reload."

Getting up off her stomach and sitting up, she cranks open the magazine release, fumbling for the box of ammunition. It's heavy, heavier than she expected -- everything to do with the gun is, all heavier than she remembered back in the game. Fighting when your life isn't in immediate danger is a completely different experience. It takes a moment for her to jam the magazine in place, make sure it's all ready to go -- Kazama watches, kneeling next to her with his back to a tree.

"Next." Farther away. Stuck in between the branches of a bush. Rolling back on her stomach, Saki aims, and she feels the blood rushing in her ears when she breathes out and holds it that way, peering through the scope and bracing her arms for the shot.

Just another target to blow away.

--

Just before nightfall, Kazama has her pack up the rifle -- he gathers up the spare shells, kicks dirt over the scraps of paper targets and then leads the way to an old abandoned cabin hidden in the midst of the forest. Dusty, dark -- but furnished, with working water and a kitchen.

"Training facility," is the explanation given when Saki looks at him questioningly. He doesn't elaborate, so she makes do with that answer. "Take the bedroom," he mumbles.

She doesn't want to -- rooms are always closed off, and more dangerous, and she instinctively dislikes being stuck inside with someone she doesn't trust outside the door -- but she listens for now. Starts unpacking her belongings into some semblance of a living arrangement.

Shinjo had said she'd be training for at least a month.

A month stuck like this. She's almost starting to regret her decision to train to be a fighter -- but 'almost' doesn't mean she 'does' want to turn back. Outside the room, she hears the click of a door shutting -- the rush of water. Movements that don't concern her as long as they don't directly affect her.

A few minutes later, a knock on her door, and she opens it to find Kazama there, hair wet and looking tired. "Eat something, then rest. Be up at nine." Then he turns away without waiting for an answer.

She can't help but dislike him, dislike his silence.

By the time she finishes unpacking and decides to take a shower, her uneasiness be damned, there are noises coming from the tiny kitchen near the back of the cabin. And the entire time in the shower, she feels uneasy -- stuck in a cabin with a man she can't trust, with a person she knows has killed before. It takes an effort to push these fears aside -- she stands in the flow of steaming water for as long as she can stand, hearing the sounds from outside the bathroom dying down. It's silent when she's drying her hair, and she finds out why when she steps out.

Kazama is lying on the couch, back towards her. Asleep, probably.

Rubbing a towel against her hair, she skirts the couch and makes her way to the kitchen -- maybe there'll be something to eat -- and finds a sandwich on the counter, lying there innocently. She ignores it, and instead finds some convenience-store onigiri in a cupboard.

It's a meager dinner, but it should do.

She sleeps uneasily, and the silence outside the room makes her nervous more than anything else.

--

A quiet tap-tap on her door wakes her the next morning, and she's up immediately, looking out the window where dim slats of early-morning sunlight are leaking into the room. It doesn't take long for her to throw on light clothes and tie her hair back, then grab her rifle and step out -- Kazama's already waiting by the door to the cabin, guitar case over his shoulder.

He takes a cursory glance at her, then turns and steps outside. Saki follows shortly after, eyeing his guitar case.

Probably holding rifle parts, she guesses.

And she was right -- they trek for a while, past where the car is parked just behind the cabin and into a grove of trees near a stream. He stops in the middle of a small clearing without warning, the kneels down to open the guitar case, revealing a disassembled rifle and stand. She recognizes some of the parts -- the scope, the barrel, the various clumsy bits of metal -- and watches as he puts it all together with flawless movements. This goes there, this goes there -- click, kachunk, rifle finished.

As if just noticing that she's been watching, he looks up, then points into the distance. It takes a moment of squinting for Saki to spot the target nestled in the bushes, a fair distance away, just a typical round bulls-eye this time.

He must have set up a lot of targets beforehand.

Without asking, Saki gets down on her stomach, aims, fires -- peers through the scope as the top edge of the target explodes. She looks up at him, but only gets a vague look and a nod in the direction of the target.

Shoot again.

She gets in four more rounds, hitting the target twice and missing twice, then stops when Kazama places a hand on the barrel of her rifle, stalling her, then gesturing for her watch him as he crouches down and aims, his own rifle gleaming dully in the murky forest light.

"Pull the trigger with the ball of your finger. Wrap the sling around your arm." He fires a single round that shatters the center of the target, leaving a jagged hole. "Keep the gun still."

She follows the advice, and this time, she hits a little closer to center.

And she doesn't get much sign of approval -- she's not expecting any -- but she does give a small, self-satisfied nod. If she's going to be a fighter and a killer, she'd rather be a good one. Kazama lays a hand on the barrel of her rifle, then points to a new target in a different direction, nodding to her.

Of course, she knows perfectly well what to do.

--

In roughly a week, she can hit the target at five-hundred meters nine times out of ten, and through careful observation of the way Kazama neatly disassembles and reassembles his rifle, she gets a loose grasp of the workings of her rifle. She finds a cleaning manual for her rifle and supplies in front of her room door one night, when she returns after her shower, and she learns to make good use of them.

On Sunday, there's no knocking at her door even as the sun nears its peak, and when she steps out of her room, she finds the place empty. The car gone. A short note on the table -- "Rest for today."

So she spends a long time in the shower that morning, standing in the stream of near-scalding water and watching the steam build up and fog over the tiny mirror. It would be nice to take a bath, but wishful thinking never helps. She eventually returns to her room, drying her hair, and sits in the square of sunlight pooling on the floor, looking up out the window.

There are probably summer festivals going on in Tokyo. She used to go to those with her classmates -- and she'd usually win bunches of goldfish, give them to her friends who weren't so good with the little paper nets. They'd usually die eventually, but until then, they were cute and swam happily around their little balloons of water.

The thought almost makes her nostalgic.

She must have fallen asleep some time, because when she next opens her eyes, it's growing darker outside, and there are soft noises coming from outside the door. Something from the kitchen area. And she ignores them, instead disassembling her rifle and cleaning it meticulously, following the manual down to every last detail.

Eventually, the noises die down, and she steps out to find Kazama sleeping on the couch, arm hanging off the side and head canted back towards the ceiling.

He almost doesn't look threatening.

A growl from her stomach -- damn, she hasn't eaten much yet. She still gives the sofa a wide berth as she makes her way to the kitchen. And finds a covered plate on the table. Probably leftover scraps. Still, she lifts the cover, mostly out of curiosity, and finds a full helping of rice and vegetables.

It looks well-prepared.

Left for her?

Probably. She still almost places the cover back and leaves it, except for the fact that she's hungry, and she doesn't want to make a fuss with utensils and wake Kazama. It puts her uneasiness to rest, even just a little, when he's asleep.

It's still warm, and she gets through about half of it before feeling oddly sick and putting it away.

--

It's amazing how quickly anyone can adapt to anything, and after two weeks, the daily training is almost like habit, almost like something that she's been doing for a long, long time.

By the start of the third week, he shows her how to shoot without lying down, demonstrates without words how to wrap the sling around her shoulder and keep the rifle butt tucked under her arm to keep it steady while she aims, then pull the trigger in a quick instant with lungs emptied so that the shot is accurate as possible.

It's a lot harder than shooting prone, but she's good enough at it, at this skill that helped her survive in the woods for three days, killing people from afar.

Once, he points at a bird sitting on a branch maybe three hundred meters away, and nods when she gives him a questioning glance.

A live target.

She takes her time, aims carefully while he watches, and breathes out. Pulls the trigger.

She misses.

The bird flits away the moment the bullet ricochets off the tree trunk it's sitting on, and she curses quietly, getting up as the flutter of feathers dies down. Dammit. Three weeks of practice, and it hadn't been enough. Dammit.

But when she looks over, Kazama only shakes his head, says something quietly that she almost misses it. Maybe "it's okay."

She still spends that Sunday searching out birds, and doesn't return to the cabin until she snipes down one unfortunate magpie, and has buried the body under a fat bush. By the time she comes back, Kazama has returned from what she knows is his weekly trip to replenish supplies -- food, water, ammunition -- and has collapsed on the sofa.

The evening's quiet, and Saki spends some time trekking outside in the woods until the buzz of mosquitoes becomes unbearable, then retreats back to her room and her rifle, but doesn't disassemble it, just sits on her desk with it lying across her lap, and looks out the window at the pale moon.

It's a strange feeling, to feel lonely and crowded at the same time.

Maybe, she figures, it's the way the forest surrounds the cabin, and envelopes her in silence all day. The way no matter what she says or does, she hardly gets any response -- but that presence of another person won't disappear.

It's hard to shake off this feeling, and it lingers around her, winding about her shoulders and throwing off her aim. When Kazama points at another bird during another training session, she breathes hard and aims for the longest time, but still misses -- and this time, she doesn't get any response say a shake of the head.


	2. Deux

Title: Fade 1/3

**Title: **Fade 2/3

**Author:** Miru

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warning: **No spoilers, largely speculative

From the very moment she's awoken by a rapid knock on the door she's wary. She'd just fallen asleep, this isn't normal. Something's wrong. A quiet mutter almost silenced by the door, "--Sakurai." When she opens the door, she finds Kazama standing there, fully dressed, bandanna pulled up to cover his face. It's after they've done the day's worth of training, starting to grow late, and the cabin's filled with the smoldering sunset light.

"What's going on?"

"Military vans."

Immediately, she stiffens.

"What should I do?"

"Pack your belongings, take them to the car, then come to the clearing near the stream. Bring your gun."

With that, he turns away and vanishes out the doorway, rifle in hand. There's blood on the sleeve of his jacket.

Saki knows better than to panic, and moves with determination, grabbing up her belongings and throwing them into a duffel bag. It helps that she hadn't brought much -- clothes, mostly, a few amenities, just the necessities. The rest of the cabin's already cleared and looks barren when she rushes outside to throw her bag in the car -- the door's unlocked, and she leaves it open. Takes only her rifle and a pocketful of spare magazines, then runs through the woods without giving the cabin a second glance, because she can hear the faint cracks of gunfire up ahead.

With each step, the gunshots grow louder, and she slows down to a wary walk, stepping carefully to keep her presence low. No sign of any military personnel, and no signs of Kazama, either. She's nearing the clearing when there's the muffled crack of a rifle shot, and a tree to her right explodes.

Immediately, she falls down into a crouch, peering in the direction that the shot must have come from -- there. Three military vans. Unarmored -- they're lucky, armored vans would be near impossible to bring down -- but with a mounted gun each. Two are manned. The last one isn't, there's a soldier stepping away from the van and in her direction, casting about warily and finger on the trigger of a machine gun slung around his shoulder. One, two -- six, seven. Seven soldiers.

She tightens the sling of her rifle around her arm, then aims, carefully, peering through the scope. The soldier's looking away in entirely the wrong direction, and she has a clear shot for his chest, just below the collarbone. She can probably kill him.

Before she can shoot, though, one of the soldier manning the mounted guns bolts upright, then sprawls backwards, spouting blood from the throat. The driver of the van follows soon after, splattering bright red all over the window. The soldiers start shooting in that direction, expectedly, she can see them, hear them shouting at each other, and immediately, the one soldier still manning the mounted guns jumps off, grabbing a shotgun.

And so Saki takes that opportunity to shoot.

This time, she doesn't miss.

The soldier she was aiming for buckled back two steps, then keels over backwards, arms windmilling wildly. Shot through the chest.

Two snipers from different directions -- the soldiers panic, confused, and three of them are mowed down with quick shots, two shot through the chest and one through the head. Saki kills another, but this one takes two shots, since the first just pierces through his arm, she has to put him out of his screaming misery with a second shot through the neck.

Except, the bullet goes straight through -- it had been slightly off-center -- ricochets off the roof of the van and punctures the magazine of the mounted gun.

_bam_

There's a burst of light, blinding, crashing, tearing -- and the explosion obliterates all noise. Obliterates the soldiers standing there. Saki shoots on instinct, aiming her rifle at the center of the explosion and pulling the trigger as fast as she can, but she knows it won't hit anything. No aiming, no pausing, no nothing, none of the things she'd been told -- and the recoil jars her arms all the way up to the shoulders.

She keeps shooting anyway, and hears gunshots from her right, not far off, three shots in quick succession -- she gets in two more rounds, then another roaring explosion, more light, more fire, she must have gotten another of the vans -- acrid smoke is starting to choke her, and she pauses -- in that moment, something heaving crashes into her, throwing her to the ground, pinning her arms down.

(--trapped--)

And she doesn't scream, but she still fights, beating her fists against the weight pressing down her -- before realizing that it's Kazama, head bowed as he struggles up to his knees, half turning to look over his shoulder at where the second explosion had blossomed out into a fireball -- it's starting to die down.

Immediately, he gets up into a crouch, and grabs her arm -- "hurry," -- and drags her to her feet. Multicolored spots are still dancing before her eyes, aftereffects of the explosion, but it doesn't matter -- grabbing her rifle, she runs after him, eyes trained forward, careful not to trip. Behind her, the fire's still crackling, and she can smell smoke -- Seven people dead, three jeeps destroyed.

It doesn't take long to start the car, and they get on in a rush -- Saki throwing herself into the backseat still hugging her rifle and Kazama tossing his gun into the passenger seat -- there's the rattle of metal when he slams down on the gas pedal and the car jerks forward.

Saki can't help but turn around and stare out the back window of the car, at the fireball dying down further and further away as the car staggers forward over the unpaved road, jerking over every rock in the dusty dirt.

It's only now, when the fragments of the explosion fade out of sight and they're well on their way away from their forest that she realizes how much her ears are ringing, and just how much ash is clogging up her throat. And maybe it's not just her -- in the driver's seat, Kazama doubles up over the steering wheel, breathing harshly.

"Kazama-san?"

No answer -- not that she'd been expecting one -- but Saki sits up and leans forward.

"Are you okay?"

And then -- only then -- she notices the acrid stench of blood, and the shrapnel embedded in his back.

--

"Imakire-san!"

It's already dark, and the only sounds are the distant wails of quiet traffic when Saki throws open the door of the car and rushes to the back door of the familiar building. Locked. No wonder -- past closing time for most places.

Shouting too loud will draw attention, so Saki pounds a fist against the door instead -- hopefully the dull thump-thump-thump will just be dismissed by any neighbors. Silence.

No.

He has to be there.

He has to.

They can't go to a hospital, Kazama's already wanted, and her face is famous from back when the Game was going on.

But he might die.

Some drunkard starts shouting several blocks away, and Saki pounds at the door again -- maybe she should risk it, drag him to a hospital, maybe they won't recognize him -- then there's the click of a lock.

She jumps back when the door swings inward and Imakire's suddenly there, looking only half-awake, long hair in a mess around his shoulders. He looks surprised.

"Sakurai-san? What--"

"Kazama-san's hurt."

Then he notices the ash on her face, the bits of dead leaves in lining of her jacket, the concern in her face.

"Alright."

--

The door shuts with a dull metal click, and Saki immediately looks up from where she's sitting on the couch. Imakire looks tired as he walks over and sits down in a chair opposite her.

"He's fine. Sleeping now."

A sigh of relief. Saki feels like she's breathing for the first time since they got back.

"What happened, exactly?"

And she shakes her head, gathering her thoughts before speaking in words that are strangely easy to keep steady.

"Army cars. I think he spotted them patrolling, and we shot down the soldiers. But we blew the jeeps, and he --"

It's suddenly hard to talk.

"And so he protected you from the explosion and got like that."

Imakire finishes her sentence -- she only nods.

And suddenly, he laughs -- dry and humorless, but still a laugh.

"What--"

"Oh, just." He scratches his head. "I was joking when I said he'd protect you. Not literally like this." The chair squeaks when he gets up. "You want some coffee?"

She's never had coffee before. "Yes, thanks you."

Imakire ambles out of the room to where she assumes the kitchen is, and she takes the opportunity to lean back into the chair and close her eyes, suddenly tired.

"-- you okay?"

"Ah, yes." Sitting up, she takes the coffee, holding the mug in her hands as Imakire sits back down. It's black, bitter when she swallows -- but not bad.

"You didn't like him much, did you?"

"Excuse me?" How did he know?

Again, Imakire laughs, and leans forward, setting his mug down on the coffee table before reaching up to tie his hair, brushing it back with his fingers.

"Shinjo told me you were a winner from the game, so it's natural you wouldn't like someone like him. Kazama-kun doesn't like talking -- you'd be wary. People fresh out of the Game'd feel like that."

Saki doesn't answer, just sips at her coffee, giving him a careful look until he continues. "I was in the Game too, that's how I know." Brushing his ponytail back, he picks his mug up again, giving a wan smile. "I wasn't a winner, though. I ran away."

"Ah."

"I could tell you didn't like him when you came in the store. I'm not blaming you, of course -- Kazama-kun is a little intimidating."

"Is that why you told me he'd protect me?"

"Pretty much." Throwing back the rest of his coffee, he lowers the mug with a clink of ceramic on wood. "But I was right, wasn't I? He's scary, but he's a nice guy."

Saki doesn't answer, just stares into her half-empty mug of coffee.

And they sit like this for a long moment, until Imakire sighs, says,

"Kazama-kun was a winner, too. Won the winter game four years ago."

This, she looks up at.

"Sakurai-san, this store gets lonely a lot of the time -- so I watch TV a lot. I think I've watched all the Games for the past six years. It's not great entertainment, but it's kind of like a train wreck, you know?" There's a lull in conversation -- the clock on the wall ticks -- and he sighs. "I watched the one you were in. You won by sniping, right?"

Not a pleasant memory, but she nods.

"He did too. That's probably why Shinjo-san left you in his care."

She doesn't answer, because she can't think of anything to say.

And it goes like this for a few moment before Imakire sighs and stands up, popping his limbs. "Well then, that's enough for tonight. It's getting pretty late, so you should rest. You must have been training hard. I'm sure Kazama-kun would give you the bed if he were awake, but I'm afraid you'll have to make-do with the couch for tonight."

"What about--"

"Ah, don't worry about me. The chair back at the store can lean back pretty far, I'll sleep there."

"--but"

"No buts, Sakurai-san." He laughs. "I can get you some blankets if you want?"

"No, it's fine. Thank you."

"Alright then. Call me if you need anything, okay? The store's just around the hallway, so."

"Ah -- yes."

"Good night!"

"You too."

That night, she lies on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and remembers what it was like back in the Game -- and realizes, for the first time, that she wasn't the only one who was put through that misery.

--

By the time she wakes up, it's light outside, and there's sunlight streaming through the window in butter-yellow slats. Noon? No -- just before that. She sits up a little too quickly and staggers from the sudden rush of blood.

She hasn't slept that long in ever.

When she makes her way through the narrow hallway and opens the door leading to the counter, it's almost empty -- except Imakire sitting on the office chair, winding the telephone cord around his finger as he talks.

"Yes, they're fine -- it might be a few days, though -- don't worry, they weren't tracked, and the police have no idea, I already hacked in. They're clean." When she steps into the store area, he looks at her over his shoulder, then smiles, giving her a 'wait one minute' gesture. "Yeah, she just came here. Want to talk to her? Oh, uh -- that's fine too. Alright. I'll tell her that. Okay."

It's an old-style phone, and it gives a little _ding_ when Imakire places the receiver back in the stand and looks up to her.

"Good morning!"

"-- good morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I just talked with Shinjo-san -- he says he's relieved you're both okay, but that you should lay low for a while. Most of this building's empty, and I checked that the apartment upstairs is furnished, and it's empty. You can take over that."

"-- okay."

"Is that okay with you?"

"Yes. It's fine. Thank you."

"Are you sure? You look kinda nervous."

"--yes."

Imakire laughs. "If you say so." A car rumbles to a halt just outside, and he perks up. "Customer coming. Sakurai-san, you can go clean up and rest a bit more. God knows your training must have been hard, you should take a break."

"I'm fine." Pause. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nah, it's all good."

--

So Saki spends the rest of the morning getting used to her rifle. Her hair's still wet from the shower, and drops of water spot the floor as she takes it apart, spreading the various parts on the hardwood floor, like she'd learned.

'Care of the weapon is as important as learning how to use it.'

She isn't quite used to the procedure yet, even after a month, and it takes her a long time to clean all the parts and put the rifle back together, the metal pieces clacking together in between her fingers -- and she nearly drops the rifle when there's a knock on the door, followed by Imakire's voice.

"Sakurai-san, you there?"

"-- yes. The door's open."

He looks amused when he peeks into the room.

"Want something to eat? Kinda early to call it dinner, but you must be hungry -- I'm ordering Chinese."

"Ah, yes, please."

Imakire laughed. "You don't need to be so stiff. It's not like I'm going to do anything bad."

"...sorry."

"Nah, just don't worry. Anything you want?"

"Anything's fine."

"Alright, I'll bring it up when it comes, okay?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Aite."

After Imakire leaves, Saki considers using the phone lying in the corner of the room to give Shinjo a call -- then realizes that she doesn't know the encoded extension to contact him. She sits on the floor holding the phone for a long moment, because for the first time in a month, she doesn't know what to do.

That evening, she wanders down to the store and asks Imakire if she can borrow a rifle silencer -- so she can practice in the hallway, without drawing attention. Imakire laughs and rummages around the piles and piles of boxes, eventually digging one up and handing it to her.

"How much?"

"Nah, don't worry. You can just keep it."

"...thank you."

She stands at one end of the hallway and tapes tiny paper targets to the far end on the wall, about the size of a large coin. This should compensate for the close range, shouldn't it?

She spends most of the evening practicing, and by nightfall, can hit the targets maybe three times out of ten.

"Wow, you're good." Imakire claps from the stairwell. "That in just a month? I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

He watches as she loads another round and walks over to stick up more targets -- last time for today. She gets four of the ten, and sighs. Still not good enough.

"You should rest for the night. It's getting late."

She nods, and there's a moment where they're both quiet, before he asks -- smiling,

"Have you seen Kazama-kun today?" No. She's been avoiding him. But she doesn't say this, just packs up her rifle and its separate parts and her case of ammunition, so Imakire laughs again, getting up from where he'd been sitting on the stairs. "You should. He's not awake yet, but I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"I don't think I should disturb someone who's resting."

"Still wary of him?"

"That's not true."

"Either way, that's okay. Just don't stay up too late, alright?"

"Alright."

"'night, then!"

"Good night."

Even so, after the building goes quiet and the only sounds outside are late-night drinkers retching in the streets, Saki goes downstairs -- past where Imakire is sprawled on the couch -- and stands before the doorway to the separate room for a moment.

Almost opens it.

The turns away, back to the upper floor.


	3. Trois

Title: Fade 3/3

**Title: **Fade 3/3

**Author:** Miru

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warning: **No spoilers, largely speculative

Three days later, a Sunday, she can get maybe six out of ten of the targets, seven when she's lucky. And Kazama is awake. That morning, she's practicing in the hallway, and sees him standing in the stairwell. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, and she ignores him -- they're silent like that while she shoots two rounds, and then he turns away, starts down the hallway.

It doesn't matter.

When she heads down to the lower floor several hours later, she finds the place empty. Imakire must be in the store. As usual. It's eerily quiet, and it feels strange to make dinner in the kitchen, the sounds echoing around the silent house -- until there's the click of a door, and she turns to see Imakire walking out of the bedroom. Where Kazama must be asleep.

He notices her, and ambles over, smiling.

"He's doing a lot better, now."

"He came up while I was practicing."

"Ah, well, he shouldn't have, he's not supposed to be moving around -- but he said he's doing better."

"--said?"

Imakire laughs. "He talks to me a bit. Something close to a normal conversation." Leaning over her, he lifts the lid off a pot. "What're you making?"

"Curry."

"Wow, I haven't had proper food in a while."

"It's the least I can do."

"You don't _need_ to do anything, Sakurai-san. I'm glad to help an ally and a friend."

She doesn't answer that one because she doesn't know what to say -- so Imakire goes about setting out two plates and silverware, looking happy. It's almost what most people would consider a normal situation, and Saki can almost relax, sitting down at the table and watching as Imakire tastes the food.

"Wow, this is good."

"I'm relieved."

"Haha, you must have been a good student during those home ec classes."

She gives something close to a wan smile. "Yes. My friends envied me."

They eat in silence for the next few minutes, until Saki speaks up -- something she'd wanted to ask for a while -- "Imakire-san."

"Hmm?"

"How did you escape from the Game?"

As she expected, he laughs before sitting up and thinking for a moment, chewing on his spoon. "I think it was mostly luck. The coast guard was lax, so I jumped off a cliff into the sea. The water happened to short out the collar and kill it -- the guards on boats missed me. There was a bunch of tiny islands nearby, so I swam my way from rock to rock, and to mainland eventually."

"Did anyone find out?"

"Nah, they thought I was dead."

"I see."

A pause, while he swallows a mouthful of food. "--I did have to kill someone, though. If that's what you're wondering."

"--I'm sorry about that."

"Haha, it's okay. I ended up killing more people. It happens in this business." Cleaning out his plate, he got up to get a second helping. "What about you, Sakurai-san? What was the Game like for you?"

"Didn't you say you watched it on TV?"

"-- oh yeah, I did." The plate makes clinking noises when he sits back down, licking at his spoon. "Do you know what Kazama-kun's Game was like?"

She doesn't say no, doesn't say yes, because she isn't sure which answer is right, so she opts for silence, looking down at her plate.

"The TV always makes a big deal about everything that happens. The commentators loved you, Sakurai-san, because you were a good sniper -- like they did for him. A winter game up north near Sapporo. A few kids actually froze to death. Scary, isn't it?"

Saki clearly remembers fighting for her life in ironically pleasant weather -- it's hard to tell whether harsh weather would have made it better or worse. Imakire goes on,

"Sakurai-san, you tried to escape at first, right? Spoke with your friends until they turned on you, then you had to -- get rid of them. That's why you're careful about other people." A pause, then he continues. "People who make it out of the Game alive usually end up with some sort of problem. I know one person who turned a little crazy after winning. I actually feel kind of sorry for him." Imakire takes his time in retelling the story, chewing mouthfuls of food in between his words and swallowing slowly. "Kazama-kun spent five and a half days in the snow without talking, because the one time he tried to say something to a friend, he got shot."

And she looks up.

"I know it hasn't been enough time for you to recover from the Game yet -- it took me an year and a half before I could look at people again without running away." He sets down his spoon on his empty plate, the handle letting out a hollow jangling noise. "But I feel that you should at least know that you can trust your allies. I eventually started meeting people again even though I felt terrible about having murdered, and Kazama-kun tries to talk despite feeling that any noise he makes will get him killed."

When he looks over to her and smiles, she can't help but look away, hands clasped in her lap.

"--we're all just trying to fight this war together, right?"

The clock on the stove beeps, hitting ten o'clock, and Imakire gets up, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry that turned into a lecture, Sakurai-san. That wasn't right of me." Picking up the used dishes and silverware and dumping them in the sink, he dug up a new plate, spooning out a small helping. "I'll go see if he's good enough to eat something, you should go rest. You've been practicing hard all week, right?"

"Alright."

"Good night!"

"--good night to you, too."

As she makes her way to the stairwell she hears a door opening, and the faint sounds of quiet talking, though they fade away quickly enough into silence, punctured by the distant sounds of traffic. She lies in the tiny bed for a long time, running words and memories through her mind.

--

Saki wakes up the next morning to the sound of quiet movements from the kitchen. Probably Imakire. It's still fairly early, but she's already up, so she gets dressed -- spare clothes that Imakire had dug up out of some boxes of spare supplies, they're a bit big, but it doesn't matter.

Rifle left behind in the room for the moment, she steps out of her room, heads downstairs and peers into the kitchen -- and finds Kazama standing there in front of the stove, cooking something. He looks over when she walks in -- and so she sits down at the table.

He eventually turns around, sets down a plate of cooked rice and vegetables for her and gets some for himself -- his movements seem somewhat stiff. Saki watches as he sets down a second plate before finally speaking.

"Good morning."

And he looks a little surprised at that. Doesn't answer -- no surprise there -- but does nod in response, sitting down opposite her and digging in without much hesitation.

Saki doesn't touch her food, turning the spoon over in her hand.

"--thanks." She gets a brief pause in response, so she goes on, "For saving me back then." But still no answer, not even a nod or a glance, and so she eats, trying to drown out the way her words echo blankly in her head. Maybe it was no use after all. Distrust only brought on more distrust, and she'd distrusted him. It made sense.

It's largely silent, until Kazama sets down his spoon with a quiet clank of metal on wood, fingers resting on the table.

"Shinjo-san left you in my care." Quiet. Steady. Saki looks up, and realizes that he's looking away from her. "He instructed me to teach you." Of course. Shinjo had told her to learn from him. But he goes on. "Teaching you to kill is not something I enjoy."

Narrow fingers cast dim shadows on the table when he entwines his fingers, taking in a breath, as if it hurts to talk, but he needs to say this:

"But I will not let you get hurt."

Immediately, he gets up, as if burned -- probably unused to saying such things -- places his dish in the sink and starts to retreat back to his room, until Saki gets up from her seat.

"--Kazama-san."

He stops, turns to look at her with stiff movements.

"My shooting. Is it better now?"

And it's like he almost, almost smiles.

"You're doing well."

He vanishes into the room, leaving behind only a small _click_, and Saki lets out a sight of relief, sitting back in her chair. Learn to trust people, Imakire had said. Easier said than done.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opens and Imakire peeks out, looking around for a moment before spotting Saki, who starts and backs off on instinct, and he just laughs.

"See? Told you he's nice."

"--you heard that?"

"I was in the shower, but I caught those last few lines. I couldn't just come out and ruin the moment, could I?" There's a teasing smile on his face as he steps out, towel around his waist, another slung around his neck. "But I was right, wasn't I?"

"I guess."

"And you're doing better, too."

"--excuse me?"

"Nah, s'nothing." Imakire laughs again. "--but I'm kinda disappointed he didn't make any extra for me."

--

The next day, Saki comes downstairs after a good round of practice -- eight out of ten targets -- and finds Kazama sitting on the couch, Imakire redoing the bandages on his back. Saki catches a brief glimpse of the wound -- still raw and red and somewhat painful looking, but it seems to be healing.

"Oh my, Sakurai-san," Imakire grins. "This must be a strange scene to walk in on."

"Not really."

"Oh yeah -- I got a call from Shinjo-san, was just telling Kazama-kun about it. He says you can head back now."

"Head back?"

"Yeah. Wants you at the Dawn headquarters." And, as if reading the way that Kazama stiffens a bit, adds, "Both of you, 'course."

"Alright."

"Okay, Kazama-kun?"

A stoic nod, then he straightens up, rolling a shoulder experimentally to test the bandages wound about his chest -- stiff, a little painful, but mostly fine.

Saki sits down on one of the chair opposite the couch, setting down her rifle on the floor -- she'd given it a thorough cleaning before coming downstairs, and it gleamed proudly in the light of the room.

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. He said he'll be expecting you guys by evening, so you should be fine if you start off just a bit before noon."

"Alright."

"Okay then!" Imakire stands up, stretching his arms and popping his joints and startling both of them. "I'll make dinner tonight! A going-away party or something! Since starting tomorrow I'll be all lonely again. Come visit me or something, 'kay?"

"Don't you have to watch over the store?"

"Nah, screw the store, no one comes around this late anyway."

Saki looks at Kazama, who shrugs, then looks up at Imakire, who laughs.

"C'mon, we can take a night off!"

--

Saki wakes up that morning and finds herself lying on the couch with a blanket laid over her. It takes a moment for her to gather her thoughts, and when she sits up, she sees Kazama sleeping on the floor at the foot of the couch.

"Morning, Sakurai-san. It's still sort of early." The voice almost startles her, but not quite -- Imakire saunters out of the kitchen, a mug in each hand. "Coffee?"

"Uh, yes please."

"I added cream and sugar, is that okay?"

"That's fine."

Taking the mug, she takes a few sips -- it's sweeter and lighter than she's had it before -- then watches as Imakire leans down and lays a hand on Kazama's shoulder. He opens his eyes and rolls upright immediately, wincing a bit when his back cracks.

"Good morning, Kazama-kun."

A nod, and a quiet grunt.

"Coffee?"

Another nod.

"Here you go." He takes the mug without any response, and Saki looks away, setting her half-empty cup on the tiny coffee table and getting off the sofa.

"What's wrong?"

"Ah, no -- just getting ready."

"Alright." As she makes her way towards the staircase, she sees Kazama drain his cup and stand, stretching his limbs silently and turning to address something Imakire says. And she notes, with relief, that his movements don't seem too stiff.

By the time she comes back with her clothes in a duffel bag, Kazama is standing at the doorway, a pack slung over his shoulder, nodding in response to something Imakire says. He looks oddly light without his rifle -- his rifle was in its guitar case in the car, hidden away in an alley and covered up.

"--and take good care of her, 'kay, Kazama-kun?"

A quiet nod in response, of course.

"Ready, Sakurai-san?"

Both of them look over at her, and Saki nods, shouldering her bag and walking over. Kazama opens the door and waits while Saki laces her combat boots and gets up. Imakire stands just behind them, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall.

Saki stands up, and Kazama's out the door in and instant, pausing only to give Imakire a half-bow. And Saki's just about to follow when Imakire calls her,

"Sakurai-kun."

She pauses.

"Yes?"

"Be careful." He's still grinning, and Saki realizes that for the past few days, she hasn't felt as nervous, as uneasy, as tense as she always did. He goes on, "And take care of Kazama-kun. He'll protect you. But he's kind of like a dog. Take care of him took, okay?"

This request takes her aback, and she pauses before nodding.

"--alright."

"Okay, then!" He grabs her hand and gives it a firm shake, then a thump on the back. "Tell Shinjo-san I said hi!"

Stepping out the door, she sees the beat-up car waiting in the alley, motor gunning, with Kazama at the steering wheel, and she drops her luggage in the back seat before climbing in.

The car gives a quiet grumble, then starts up -- makes a turn around the block before riding onto the main road and heading towards an intersection far up ahead. Kazama drives quietly, eyes focused ahead and one hand on the gear-shift, while Saki sits and looks out the window at the scenery scrolling by.

They drive in silence, and outside, trees and buildings and street signs whip by -- Saki watches them all blur into one meaningless gray shape, then closes her eyes.


End file.
